


royals

by smartlove



Category: LOONA (Korea Band), NCT (Band)
Genre: Gen, Mentions of Blood, Murder, Non-Linear Narrative, covering up a murder w the bestie, side jiwoo/heejin, side mark/jeno/jaemin, when lorde said boodstains ballgowns trashing a hotel room she meant jiwoo and mark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:01:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27655163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smartlove/pseuds/smartlove
Summary: “Look at me,” Mark says. And when she doesn’t look, he cups her face in his hands and turns her head to face him. “Jiwoo, listen to me.”She’s never heard Mark sound this serious, but she supposes the occasion calls for it.“This isn’t your fault,” he says slowly, “He had it coming. You did the right thing,”The one where Mark and Jiwoo take the phrase "be gay, do crimes" a bit too literally.
Relationships: Kim Jiwoo & Mark Lee
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	royals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [venusbot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venusbot/gifts).



> i have no explanation for this other then i love lorde and murderous femme lesbian jiwoo
> 
> aris if you're reading this shut up.

Blood stains the pearly white carpet of the hotel room. It pools around the head of the now dead body and seeps into the fabric. Jiwoo can only watch the stain grow bigger and bigger, in an almost catatonic state. She sees blood everywhere she looks, like she’s staring at the room through crimson tinted glasses. The tangy smell of it fills the air, when she looks down at her hands she sees red on her fingertips, on the gun she’s holding, on the edges of her frilly skirt. Her hands are shaking, she drops the gun into the pool of blood around her feet. Wiping her hands on her skirt and ruining it further, it didn’t matter, the dress isn’t hers anyway. 

She’s fucked. She’s completely, entirely fucked. 

The bathroom door creaks open and Mark walks in carrying a cloth. 

“Jiwoo,” he says gently. She doesn’t look at him, her eyes can’t leave the body on the floor. 

She flinches as she feels a hand on her arm. When she turns to face Mark he’s looking at her with concerned eyes. It’s like he doesn’t even notice the body on the floor, he doesn’t even mind the lingering stench of blood. Like all he is seeing is Jiwoo–– she must look like a deer in headlights right now. 

“Come on,” he says quietly, “Let’s get you cleaned up,” 

Jiwoo lets him pull her towards the bed, her feet feel too heavy to move on their own. As if they were permanently glued to the spot. The very spot she stood in when she bashed the gun into the man’s skull repeatedly until he stopped breathing. She wasn’t stupid enough to pull the trigger and attract the attention of other hotel guests–– at least her survival instinct allowed her that. 

She sits on the bed, fingers curling into the bedcovers to stop her hands from shaking. Mark stands in front of her and wipes the blood off her face with a wet towel, it’s warm at least. She keeps her eyes closed, unable to look at him, to look at anything. Mark’s hands lightly graze over hers. 

“Let me clean your hands too,” he mutters, coaxing her fingers from releasing its grip on the sheets. She lets go, and Mark slowly wipes the blood off her skin. It isn’t entirely gone, pale skin still stained with red, Jiwoo fears it will never come off. That it will remain as a permanent scarring, reminding her of what she did.

She snatches the towel from Mark and wipes at the back of her palm until it’s raw, her movements are frantic. 

“Fuck,” she mutters, her skin is still red, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” 

“Jiwoo,” Mark says, grabbing the cloth from her. He holds her hand instead, “You’re going to be okay,” 

“Am I?” she hisses out, “Mark, I killed him,” 

She turns her head to look at the body again, maybe if she keeps willing for it, the body will twitch, move,  _ do anything _ . And then she’ll have nothing to worry about. 

“Look at me,” Mark says. And when she doesn’t look, he cups her face in his hands and turns her head to face him. “Jiwoo, listen to me.” 

She’s never heard Mark sound this serious, but she supposes the occasion calls for it. She swallows thickly. 

“This isn’t your fault,” he says slowly, “He had it coming. You did the right thing,” 

“I’m not sure I believe that,” Jiwoo whispers back, afraid that if she raised her voice it would break. It’s taking everything in her not to cry right now. She doesn’t know who she’s keeping up appearances for, not for Mark–– she’s cried in front of him countless times–– and definitely not the dead body. For herself, maybe.

“Doesn’t matter,” Mark replies, “Keep repeating it to yourself until you do, can you do that for me while I clean up this mess?” 

Jiwoo nods blankly. She can do this. 

_ This isn’t her fault, he had it coming.  _

_ This isn’t her fault.  _

_ This isn’t her fault… _

“I come bearing gifts,” Mark greets cheerfully when Jiwoo opens the door to her apartment. He’s carrying a pile of dresses in his arms, all of which looked too expensive for either of them to afford. She grins, opening the door wider to let him in. 

He saunters in like he owns the place and drops the dresses on her bed. 

“Who’d you steal these from?” Jiwoo asks, impressed. She picks up the one on the top of the pile, a gorgeous silver gown, fit enough for a princess and not the likes of her. 

“My boss,” Mark says casually as he flops onto the bed. 

Jiwoo widens her eyes at him. 

“Oh relax,” he says, waving her off, “She won’t notice their disappearance. It’s the clothes that didn’t make the final collection, she was gonna throw them away anyway. Can you believe that? A renowned fashion designer and she doesn’t even recycle her materials.” 

Jiwoo snorts, “I’m not surprised, the woman still uses real animal fur,”

“God,” Mark drawls out, “Why do I still work for her?” 

“Because she’s white and powerful,” Jiwoo reminds him, “You need those connections,” 

“Such is life,” he says, sighing. He sits back up to join Jiwoo in looking through the dresses, “Oh, this one would look perfect on you,” 

He’s holding up a pink dress, the skirt frilled out like a tutu, it honestly looks ridiculous but in the way that Jiwoo loves. 

“You should wear it tonight,” Mark continues. 

“What will you wear?” she asks, taking the dress from Mark. 

He hums, looking back at the pile of dresses. 

“How’s this?” he asks, pulling up a short cut silver dress with a  _ deep  _ V-neck. 

Jiwoo raises an eyebrow, “Sure, if you want to get arrested for public indecency,” 

Mark frowns, looking at it, “It’s not that short, maybe it’ll get me laid.”

Jiwoo snatches the dress back, “You have two boyfriends, wear this,” 

She hands him something a little more classy. It matches Jiwoo’s dress. A blue ball gown that falls to the floor. The bust is sparkly— _ very Mark. _

He gives a pleased hum, taking the dress from her. 

“This is gorgeous,” he agrees, “We’ll be the belles of the ball,” 

Jiwoo up her own dress, holding it against her body, “Our very own Cinderella story,”

“Except in this version we rob Prince Charming,” 

Jiwoo shrugs, “It’s more fun this way,” she stands up from the bed so she can start getting ready. 

Mark stands as well. 

“Wait,” he says quietly, “I have something else for you,” 

He grabs Jiwoo’s hand, pressing something cold against her palm. She looks down, it’s black and shiny–– and completely unmistakable. 

She pulls her hand away immediately a loud thud rings through the apartment as it falls to the floor. 

_ “You brought a gun?”  _ She hisses.

Mark tuts, bending down to pick it up. He dusts it off like it’s a crystal being polished. 

“Obviously,” Mark says, “This line of work is dangerous, we need to be prepared.” 

Mark is right. It’s one of his more annoying traits. Jiwoo sighs, taking the gun from his hands. 

“Fine,” she says, “Just in case,” 

Mark bends down and fishes the gun out of the pool of blood. He holds it away from himself, red dripping off the black metal. In hindsight, dropping the gun probably wasn’t Jiwoo’s best idea. 

“I’m going to clean this,” Mark says, “We shouldn’t leave it here, our fingerprints will be all over it,” 

“How are you so calm right now?” Jiwoo asks— demands, “There’s literally a  _ dead body  _ on the floor,” 

Mark doesn’t answer, focused on wiping the gun with the same cloth he used for Jiwoo. 

“Mark,” 

She stands from the bed, grabbing Mark’s arm and tugging.

“Answer me,” she says through gritted teeth. 

Mark’s eyes are dark— almost black— when he looks at her. Void of any emotion–– any feeling. Jiwoo can barely recognise him. She’s known Mark her entire life, they’re best friends above all else. But Jiwoo isn’t sure who she’s looking at right now. It’s definitely not  _ her  _ Mark.

“This isn’t my first time doing something like this,” he says quietly.

Jiwoo lets go of his arm. She suspected as much. He’s been unphased since the moment he entered the hotel room. Eyeing the dead body on the floor like it’s nothing but a minor inconvenience. He said nothing, walking past a trembling Jiwoo to go to the bathroom. Cleaning blood off her like it’s second nature. 

But hearing him admit it out loud felt jarring. The confirmation of a worst case scenario. 

“Okay,” she breathes out. 

Mark raises an eyebrow, confusion clouding his eyes, looking a lot more like the Mark she knows. 

“Okay?” 

She nods, stepping away. 

“Okay, do what you can to cover our tracks. I trust you.” 

_ “Trust me,”  _ Jiwoo insists, grabbing at Mark’s chin harshly to stop him from squirming, “This will make your eyes pop,” 

“It hurts!” Mark whines, trying to pull away from her iron-clad grip.

“You’re such a baby,” Jiwoo mutters, “Now stay still,” 

Mark huffs but complies, staying still and looking upward so Jiwoo can trace his waterline with black eyeliner. She tries to be as gentle as she can, her fingers tracing his skin as she moves the eyeliner pencil. But Mark still tears up––  _ baby.  _

When she’s done she leans back to admire her work. 

“See,” she said, holding up a hand mirror, “Your eyes pop,” 

Mark hums, taking the mirror from her hands, “I suppose they do,” he says nonchalantly. 

Jiwoo rolls her eyes, “Shut up, I know you want to talk about how pretty you look right now,” 

Mark meets her gaze, mischievous eyes sparkling. When lined with black, they look deadly. 

“Darling, I don’t need to say it,” he says cockily, “We both know I look gorgeous,” 

“There it is,” Jiwoo says, “Now get up, I need to do my makeup,” 

“Let me do it for you,” 

Jiwoo scoffs, “No way in hell,” 

“Why not!” Mark whines, “I bet I’ll be so good at it,” 

She shoves him off the chair and takes a seat. Her desk is a mess of scattered makeup, Mark leans against it to watch her. 

“You’ll make me look like a clown,” Jiwoo says, picking up her eyeshadow palette, “I can’t allow that,”

“Why?” Mark taunts, “You trying to impress someone?” 

Jiwoo scoffs, her ears suddenly getting warm, “No,” 

“No?” Mark says, and Jiwoo can practically hear his eyebrows wiggling, “Not even Heejin Jeon?” 

She glares at him over the palette mirror. 

_ “Shut up,”  _

The piercing sound of a ringtone startles Jiwoo, her eyes widen. It’s a ringtone she can’t recognize, she wonders if someone is looking for the man she just killed. She needs to get out of this hotel room. 

Mark grabs her arm, as if sensing her internal freakout and gives her a reassuring look. 

He digs into his bag and pulls out a phone. 

“Is that a burner?” she hisses. 

He nods, “Remind me to get you one, they come in handy,” 

He flips open the phone, reading off the tiny screen. 

“It’s Jaemin and Jeno, they’re here,” 

_ “You told them?”  _

She pulls away from his grip. Fuck. 

“Yes,” Mark says, stepping closer to her, “Jaemin is going to drive us home, there’s no way you’re taking the bus in this state. You can trust them,” 

“How can you be so sure?” 

“Because you can trust me,”

Jiwoo sighs, “You can’t keep pulling this card,” 

Mark cracks a grin, it’s weak and barely there, but it makes Jiwoo feel just a little bit better. 

“Fine,” she says reluctantly, this is a terrible idea. But then again, she hasn’t exactly been making sound decisions tonight.

“Let’s get in a car with your boyfriends, but if this is a trick and they drive me to the police station I’m killing all three of you,” 

Mark’s grin only widens, “I sincerely don’t doubt that.”

They take two buses to get to the party. The pair of them looked ridiculous, sitting at the back of the bus in their ballgowns and high heels. But Mark thrives off attention and sometimes it rubs off on Jiwoo. The party is at a hotel, the fanciest one in the city. Jiwoo feels like an intruder in the parking lot alone. 

They show their velvet red invitations to the bodyguard outside the door and enter. The entire room is dripping with red and gold. There’s champagne towers, chocolate fountains and a buffet that seems to stretch out for miles. Everyone is decked out in expensive jewels and dresses. There’s even a string quartet, playing a sweet melody for those on the dance floor to waltz to. Jiwoo loves to dance. 

“This is fucking epic,” she hears Mark breathe out, “I’m going to dance, care to join me?” 

She’s about to accept when her eye catches someone by the bar. 

“Later,” she tells Mark. 

He follows her eyes then gives her a knowing smirk. 

“Alright, have fun with Miss. Jeon,” he says before leaving her for the dance floor. Likely to find an unsuspecting bachelor to dance with. 

Heejin Jeon greets Jiwoo with a coy smile when she approaches the bar. She’s wearing a tight red dress that goes right down to the floor, the slit runs up to her thigh. Jiwoo tries her best not to stare.

This is the third party where Jiwoo has run into her. Heejin gets invited to all the parties like this–– unlike Jiwoo and Mark who steal their invitations. She’s a partner to one of the biggest law firms of the city, part of the elite–– and completely out of Jiwoo’s league. But that only makes things more interesting. 

“Hey stranger,” Heejin greets, pushing a drink towards Jiwoo. 

“Hey,” Jiwoo says, taking the drink, “Been a while,” 

“It has,” Heejin says, leaning closer, “You’re the only interesting thing about these parties,” 

“I find that hard to believe,” Jiwoo says, she could pick out five more interesting things just by looking around the room once. 

“Seriously,” Heejin says, “I only come to these stupid things to keep up appearances, I’d much rather stay in one of the hotel rooms and order room service.”

Jiwoo raises an eyebrow, “Is that an invitation?” 

Heejin only smiles, a dangerous glint in her eye. She slides over a hotel room keycard. 

They manage to sneak out of the hotel without anyone noticing. It isn’t that hard, considering it’s almost four in the morning. Jaemin’s car is parked out front, a sleek black car that’s essentially invisible under the night sky. 

Mark grabs Jiwoo’s arm, stopping her a few metres away from the car. 

“One last check-in,” he mumbles, pulling her in.

The way he wraps his arms around her and presses their foreheads together, Jiwoo suspects the gesture is as much for him as it is for her. Still, she finds comfort in hearing the other boy breathe. 

“How are you doing?” he asks quietly. 

“Still trembling, still terrified, but I’m glad you’re here,” she answers. 

“Same,” he says, “I hate that you got caught up in all this,” 

“It’s not your fault,” Jiwoo says, “It’s not mine either,” 

Maybe, she actually believes it this time. 

He nods, looking at her properly, “He had it coming,” 

“He had it coming,” she repeats. 

Jiwoo is on her second drink and Heejin is so close that she can feel the other girl breathe. Heejin is mesmerising, in the way she laughs at each one of Jiwoo’s jokes, no matter how lame. In the way she drags her fingers up Jiwoo’s bare arm. The way she says Jiwoo’s name like it’s a secret. The keycard feels heavy in Jiwoo’s purse. 

She’s about to suggest they ditch the party when Mark approaches the pair. 

“Heejin Jeon!” he says, “So nice to see you,” 

Heejin grins, pulling away from Jiwoo and greeting Mark with a hug. 

“Likewise, Mark Lee.” 

“Can I steal Jiwoo away for a moment?” he asks. 

“Of course,” Heejin says, sending Jiwoo a wink, “You know where to find me later,” 

She picks up her half empty glass of scotch and walks away from the bar. 

Jiwoo has half a mind to tell Mark off for being a cockblock, but he fixes her with a serious look. 

“There’s our target,” he says, nodding towards a man a few feet away. He’s decked out in a three piece suit, dark hair and darker eyebrows.

“Old money,” Mark explains, “I say one of us go flirt with him, convince him to take us back to his hotel room and then rob him dry.”

Jiwoo finishes her drink, it burns all the way down her throat. She straightens up, pulling the chest of her dress down slightly. 

“I’ll do it,” she says, “Meet you there,” 

She stands tall as she makes her way towards the man. 

When Jiwoo enters the backseat of the car, she’s greeted by Jeno’s kind smile. 

It’s a little unsettling–– knowing that Jeno and Jaemin know what she did. The thought that they’ve been through this before, feels even worse. But Jeno’s eyes on her are nothing but gentle. 

“Hey,” Jaemin greets quietly when opens the front door and sits inside. He leans over to kiss Mark on the cheek. The other boy’s smile is grateful, he squeezes Jaemin’s hand. 

That’s when Jiwoo realises that Mark is just as affected as she is–– he’s just better at hiding it. 

Jaemin turns around to look at Jiwoo, “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she sighs out, too tired to say anything more honest.

Jaemin’s eyebrows pinch downwards in concern, “I’m taking you back to our apartment, you can sleep in the guest room. Is that cool?”

“Yeah that’s fine,” Jiwoo says, “I think I just need some sleep,” 

“You can sleep here,” Jeno says, he shuffles to the middle seat, “I’ll wake you up when we get there,” 

“Are you sure?” Jiwoo asks, but she’s already leaning into his warmth. 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” he says, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, “We got you,” 

Jiwoo drifts in and out of sleep with her head resting on Jeno’s shoulder. She can hear Mark and Jaemin talking quietly in the front seat, she can feel Jeno’s hands running through her hair. She sighs, burying her head deeper into his neck. 

Despite everything that happened tonight, she feels safe. They can deal with everything tomorrow, but for now–– she’s okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> :> let me know ur thoughts on the murder besties. personally, i love them.


End file.
